


Miwaku-Tekina: Whatever You Wish

by NickelModelTales



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Hypnotism, Japan, Japanese Character(s), Japanese Culture, Porn With Plot, Roommates, Sex Club, Sexual Slavery, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-24 00:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20898623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: Lori, an American college student living in Japan, is suddenly left penniless by fate.  When her roommate helps her find lucrative work in a Japanese hostess bar, is she being set up for a sinister fate involving hypnotism and illicit sex?





	1. You Have the Right Instincts

**Author's Note:**

> By far, the number one reader request I get is for a tale where the heroine gets hypnotized and remains in the power of her hypnotist at the story’s end. Personally, I prefer stories where the leading lady escapes, because if I were to be hypnotized for sex, I’d like to think that I could get away in the end. But I’ll try anything once…

**Osaka, January 2009**

The air was crisp, and Lori Greene could smell breakfast dumplings frying in the tiny Ramen houses that lined the narrow _Fukushima-ku_ street. The sun was bright overhead, and the sky was clear blue. It was a sparkling morning.

Humming to herself, the young American student shifted her shopping bags as she dug through her purse for her apartment keys. Fuck! She’d forgotten them before going out **_again?_**

As chance would have it, Mr. Hamamoto, her building’s super and landlord, was lugging trash bags out his front door. Lori and her three other college roommates lived directly over the plump little man’s basement apartment.

“Oh, Hamamoto-san!” Lori sang out, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Thank goodness I bumped into you!”

“Eh?” Mr. Hamamoto grunted, slinging the trash into the wastebin by the curb.

“Could I just borrow my spare apartment key, just for a teensy minute?” Lori wheedled. She bent one leg and used her best smile.

The super sighed, knowing it was useless to resist the wiles of his American tenant. Lori was tall, curvy, full of sunny energy. Her natural beauty was accentuated with a tumbling cascade of thick, blonde curls, which captured the golden sunlight. Her hazel eyes, big and shining, enhanced her gorgeous face more than any other Western woman Hamamoto had ever seen.

“One moment,” the overweight man mumbled, then pulled out his master key ring.

*********

Five minutes later, Lori was in her tiny tatami mat bedroom, inspecting her latest purchases with a critical eye. The pink silk blouse with the cherry blossom print was a smart catch, to be sure. The young woman loved how it shimmered in the natural light; perfect for a lunch date. (And only seven thousand yen! That was about seventy US dollars.) The gray slacks, however, were looking less and less like a good find. Lori didn’t like how the seams ran down the insides of the legs. Oh well.

Down the hallway, the front door opened. Lori tossed her newest treasures into the laundry hamper, then moved quickly to the apartment’s foyer. There, two of her roommates, Nanami and Hiyori, were slipping off their outdoor shoes. Ayaka, the final roommate, was still sleeping in.

“Morning, ladies,” Lori said brightly. “Anyone up for Chinese dim sum for breakfast?”

Nanami smiled politely. “Oh, I can’t,” she begged off. “I need to carve a little pocket.”

Lori cocked her head to one side. _Carve a little pocket?_ Had she misheard some strange vocabulary word? Or was this some bizarre Japanese slang she didn’t know? The American blonde had spoken Japanese for over a decade, and yet there were still plenty of times when she missed something in translation.

No matter. “C’mon, Hiyori,” grinned Lori. “You know you want-“

In her jean’s back pocket, Lori’s cellphone vibed. “One sec, girls,” she said, snapping up the little device.

The screen display said: **_MOM_**. Lori frowned. It must have been almost midnight back in Manhattan. Why would Mom be calling so late?

*********

The American student quickly retreated to her room, pulling the screen door shut. “Hey, Mom!” she said cheerfully. “Long time, no talk to!”

Lori’s mom didn’t respond right away. “_Hello dear,_” she said. Her voice was heavy.

“You okay, Mom?” Lori asked, propping the phone between her ear and shoulder. She began to rearranged her overstuffed closet. “Don’t tell me your latest boyfriend turned out to be another freak. What’s his name…?”

“_I… I have some bad news,_” Mom said, sniffing. She’d been crying.

Lori paused. “Okay…?”

“_So, I don’t know if you’ve been following the news back in the USA, dear,_” Mom began. “_Have you heard about this… whole… Bernie Madoff affair?_”

Lori frowned. “Not really. He’s a politician, or something?”

“_He is – was – an investment advisor. But he was arrested because… because he was running an investment Ponzi scheme._” Her voice twisted. “_His clients lost everything._”

There was an agonizing pause.

“_Its all gone, sweetheart,_” Mom said, sounding wretched. “_All of it._”

Lori felt a chill strike her. “**_What’s_** gone, Mom?” she asked, unexpectedly worried.

Her mother began to cry. “_I’m so sorry, sweetheart,_” the older woman sobbed. “_I’m so, so sorry…!_”

*********

Despite a relentless churning in her stomach, Lori forced herself to go to classes that day. As her professors droned on, she sat, fidgeting and stressing. Would Mom really be so stupid as to sink the Greene family’s entire fortune into some crackpot investment scheme?

Lori knew: she would. Ever since Dad had been killed by the drunk driver, Mom had careened from one bad decision from another. The flighty woman couldn’t be trusted with anything. Lori cursed herself for being a world away, and unable to keep an eye on things.

*********

It was agony to wait until 10 PM, which was 9 AM back in New York. On the stroke of the hour, Lori furiously dialed Claudia Purdum, the Greenes’ asset manager at Willow Crescent Associates. Willow Crescent was **_supposed_** to be the best financial management firm in the world; they couldn’t have allowed ruin to happen, could they?

“_I’m very sorry, Lori,_” Ms. Purdum said, sounding truly regretful, “_but I’m afraid your situation is bleak._”

The situation was bleak, indeed. Over the last year, Mom had gradually liquidated all of the family assets, pouring them into Bernie Madoff’s glittering money scheme. The transfer of wealth had started slowly… but had been complete. Madoff must have been one smooth talker.

“_The losses do include your personal trust fund, I’m sorry to say,_” Ms. Purdum told Lori in a heavy voice. There was the clack of a computer keyboard on the other end of the line. “_It looks like… your tuition has been paid off for this semester. But you’ll have to find other funding for room and board and all other expenses going forward._”

“I have… **_nothing?_**” Lori exclaimed, disbelieving. Her head reeled.

“_You have… a few hundred dollars in your savings account,_” offered Ms. Purdum. “_But that’s it._”

Angry and deeply hurt, Lori hung up on her.

*********

For the next hour, Lori curled up into a ball and sobbed. **_How could the universe be so cruel?!?_** Her life in Japan had been exciting, full of promise. Now… now she wasn’t even sure she had enough money to buy a plane ticket home. To say nothing about covering her rent. Or massive credit card bills.

“Lori?” a soft voice outside her door said.

It was Hiyori. The American student sat up, quickly drying her tears. She’d forgotten how paper-thin the walls of this apartment were. With clumsy haste, she tried to fix her hair. Then she slid back her bedroom’s sliding screen door.

Both Hiyori and Nanami were outside her room, both looking at her with wide, sorrowful eyes.

“What has happened?” Nanami asked.

*********

The three women moved to the apartment’s tiny kitchen. Hiyori made tea as Lori explained her plight.

“Oh, Lori,” sighed Nanami. “That’s just awful. What will you do?”

The American student twisted a paper napkin in her fingers. “I don’t know,” she sniffed. “I’ll have to get a job, I guess.”

Lori caught her roommates sharing a quizzical glance. Osaka was a **_terribly_** expensive place to live, and foreigners were discouraged from taking jobs.

“Well,” Nanami said diplomatically, “…perhaps this is for the best, somehow?”

_Easy for her to say,_ Lori thought bitterly. Nanami’s father was a wealthy real estate tycoon; she never wanted for money.

Hiyori turned, placing steaming teacups before Nanami and Lori. “We must think ahead,” she said, using a formal tone. “Lori, if you are unable to make rent for next month, you must inform us as soon as possible.”

Lori scowled. A regular pillar of emotional support, that Hiyori.

“We don’t have decide anything tonight,” Nanami said quickly.

*********

Lori remained in the kitchen long after Hiyori and Nanami went off to bed. The American student sat at the table, glumly staring at the empty teacups, wallowing in her depression. Her life seemed to be over.

A soft click at the apartment’s entrance roused her thoughts. The front door was opening; her third roommate, Ayaka, was stealing inside the little abode.

Sitting up, Lori frowned and glanced at the clock. It was after 1 AM. She knew Ayaka worked late, but 1 AM? The restaurant where she worked must be clear across town. Or something.

Ayaka wearily slipped off her shoes, and then her winter overcoat. To Lori’s surprise, the young Japanese woman was wearing a stylish party dress, complete with sexy stockings and a diamond pin. Her hair was carefully done up, in a very elaborate and showy manner that Lori couldn’t ever hope to pull off. Ayaka looked as if she were returning home from a champagne party. On a yacht.

As she stepped into the main sitting room, Ayaka’s eyes popped when she spotted the American blonde. “Lori,” she said in surprise. “You are awake? Why so late?”

“No reason,” Lori lied, composing herself. “I, um… was just having some tea.”

Ayaka’s expression didn’t change, but Lori could see the wheels turning in her head. The Japanese woman moved to the table, then sat down.

“What has happened?” she asked softly.

Lori studied Ayaka. Out of her roommates, Ayaka was the most mysterious, mostly because she never seemed to be around. Unlike Hiyori and Nanami, she did not come from money, which was why she worked her demanding evening job. Lori also secretly thought was Ayaka was the most empathetic of the three. If she was around more often, perhaps Lori and Ayaka would have been close friends.

Ayaka blinked, a simple action which highlighted her big, brown eyes. She was a lovely woman. Classically Japanese, Ayaka possessed an elegant, doll-like face, making her a plain but breathtaking beauty. Her body was extremely thin, giving her a graceful, willowy figure, very feminine even among the most gorgeous of women. Lori admired her hair, her nails, her trim waist, her inviting demeanor. In another time, Ayaka could have been the consort of an emperor.

“What has happened, Lori?” Ayaka repeated, her voice full of concern.

In Japan, it is not customary to burden another person with your personal problems, especially financial ones. Money worries are usually seen as the result of bad decisions, evidence that karma is punishing you for being foolish or stupid. Given Hiyori and Nanami’s earlier reactions, Lori hesitated to say anything.

_Oh… fuck it,_ the American student thought miserably. She needed all the advice she could get.

Trying to speak as formally as possible, Lori explained the disaster that had eaten the Greene family fortune. “I’m pretty much broke,” she admitted, crumpling up the napkin again. “Actually, I’m… in debt. My credit card bills…” She did not finish that sentence.

“I see,” Ayaka responded, looking crestfallen.

There was a silence. The electric clock ticked loudly.

“Perhaps,” Ayaka said, “we should have more tea.”

Lori blinked, thrown for a loop. “No, no, its late,” she mumbled. “I should be in bed, I have-“

“Tea will do us good,” Ayaka said crisply, rising and collecting the used teacups from the table. “I will make it; you remain there.”

With a graceful efficiency Lori could only admire, Ayaka put a fresh pot on the stove, then removed a clean teacup from the cupboard. “I feel like I’m at work,” she joked as she worked.

Lori’s ears pricked up. Had she heard that correctly? Or was Ayaka using another Japanese phrase that she wasn’t completely understanding?

Suspicious, Lori cocked her head to one side. “You’re a restaurant hostess,” she stated. “You seat the customers at the tables. But they also make you pour tea?”

In Japanese society, the pouring of tea has an **_enormous_** cultural significance. Traditionally, women pour tea for the men, and there are multiple layers of respect and status associated with this action. Japanese Tea Ceremonies are elaborate affairs, all performed according to exacting standards. Lori understood little of why this was so important in her host country… but she knew enough to know that tea-pouring was not left to a mere restaurant hostess.

Something was up. Ayaka was creeping home at 1 AM, dressed as if she’d gone to the opera. Lori watched her roommate carefully.

The young Japanese woman rested her hands on the kitchen counter, weighing something in her mind. She looked at Lori sharply.

“What?” Lori asked.

Pursing her lips, Ayaka sat at the kitchen table in a very Japanese way; her back straight, her hands folded in her lap. “I like you, Lori,” she said, almost formally. “You are a good friend. And you have lent me money when I was in need. I’ve never forgotten that.”

“…’kay,” Lori replied, not getting her roommate’s wavelength.

Ayaka leaned forward, almost whispering now. “You must not tell Nanami or Hiyori, understand?”

Lori nodded.

Ayaka glanced about, as if she needed to be reassured that the two women were alone. “I **_am_** a hostess,” she murmured. “But not at a restaurant.”

A light bulb went off in Lori’s head. “You work at a **_hostess bar!_**” she exclaimed.

“**_Shhh…!_**” implored Ayaka, instinctively looking back into the apartment.

Lori clasped both her hands before her mouth. She’d heard of the hostess bars, of course. According to wild rumors, hostess bars were specialized clubs for **_men only_**. Japanese businessmen came to drink, smoke cigarettes… but mostly be entertained by the company of a beautiful young lady. The women’s only role was to flirt and enchant the men, to give the males the illusion that they were younger and more attractive than they truly were. Men spent heavily to lose themselves under such charms.

*********

Lori was a Gender Studies major, specializing in Japanese society. Sexual mores in the Land of the Rising Sun both fascinated and bewildered her.

The Japanese, Lori thought, possessed the most sexually repressed culture on Earth. The traditional samurai ideal, of the emotionally detached man with his demure but elegant wife, was still very much alive and well. Gender roles were defined in ancient, rigid terms.

But the modern Japanese woman had other ideas. Aghast at being cast as the lovely geisha princess, (and then an ever-toiling housewife), the young women of Japan had rebelled. They wanted disposable incomes, disposable hobbies, and disposable boyfriends. They kept the males at a firm distance, and rejected sexual advances often. Their anthem was “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”

And while most Japanese men learned to adapt to the new reality, many more were abjectly terrified. Women who would **_publicly_** shun them, just for wanting a date? Horrifying!

In Lori’s opinion, a sizable chunk of Japanese men had reacted very badly. Many gave up hope of ever winning over a mate, and dove into hardcore pornography. (Japanese porn, Lori had been appalled to discover, was vulgar and unspeakably misogynist.) Other men willing entered marriages where they were deeply unhappy. And many more gentlemen sadly regarded women as almost mythical beings: entertaining, but cruel on a whim. The balance between the genders, Lori thought, was badly out of whack.

The American student had never seen a hostess bar, but she was fairly certain that such establishments existed because there was a huge number of Japanese men who longed to feel sexually attractive… even if they had to pay handsomely for a pretty face to lie to them about it.

*********

“Oh my God,” Lori murmured, staring across the kitchen table at Ayaka, as if seeing her for the first time.

“Working as a hostess is honorable work,” her roommate insisted, frowning.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Lori agreed quickly. ”Holy cow… So, what do you… What do you **_do?_** You know, while on the job?”

Now Ayaka sighed, sinking back in her chair. “There’s not much to it. Every customer is different.”

“Uh-huh…?” said Lori, coaxing.

Ayaka shrugged. “I only entertain one customer at a time. When they arrive at the club, I greet them. I take them to our own table. And then I pretend that they endlessly fascinate me.”

“…and **_do_** they?” Lori couldn’t help but ask.

Ayaka rolled her eyes. “Most customers just want to seem important. So that’s easy. When they brag about their success, their business deals, the productivity of their companies, all I have to do is act impressed.”

“Do you have to touch them?”

“Not if I don’t want to,” replied Ayaka, annoyed at the question. “But if I lightly touch their arm or the back of their hand, the tip will be higher. It’s a flirting job.”

“Uh-huh…” Lori nodded, thinking about how to phrase her next question. “Uh, do you ever-“

“**_There’s no sex,_**” Ayaka said firmly. “None. **_Period_**. They can’t even touch me or say something inappropriate.”

“Wow,” Lori murmured, processing. “We have **_nothing_** like that in the USA.”

“No, you have strip clubs,” sniffed Ayaka. “Hostess bars are nothing like that.”

Of course, Japan had strip clubs too, but Lori didn’t want to argue the point.

“I’ve only been working at my club for a few weeks now,” Ayaka confessed. “But it pays well.” She locked her eyes on her American roommate. “It pays **_very_** well, Lori.”

The unspoken implication hovered in the air. Lori’s eyes widened.

“Me?” she said slowly. “A hostess?”

“You could do this job in your sleep,” Ayaka assured her. “You would be the only blonde woman; that’s got to be a money-maker. You’ve got the sexy American girl look. Big eyes, white teeth, red lips, perfect skin. And you have big breasts.” She gestured at Lori’s chest.

The American was taken aback. Usually, Japanese people were modest and polite when discussing other’s bodies. It was jarring to hear Ayaka rate her so brazenly.

“I’ll show you,” the Japanese woman clucked, straightening in her chair once again. “Let’s pretend, you and I. I am a fifty-something Japanese businessman. I work long hours in the Kamana Watch Company – or something – and I do not want to go home to my nagging wife and bratty children. So I come to the club. **_You_** are my hostess.” She nodded toward the still-steaming teapot, resting on the stove. “Pour the tea, then make me feel handsome.” Her eyes flashed. “Go.”

Lori blushed. “Aw, geez, Aya, this is…”

“Hurry!” frowned Ayaka. “I am waiting!”

_Fuck it_, the American student thought. Forcing herself not to think about how insanely weird this whole scene felt, she leaned forward, placing a gentle hand on Ayaka’s forearm.

“Oh, Tanaka-san,” she purred, using the polite form. “I’m so glad you came to our modest club tonight. May I serve you tea?”

Ayaka drew her face into a solemn expression. She bowed her head once.

“One moment please,” Lori smiled, trying to rise to her feet in a single, graceful motion.

The American student had seen tea-pouring before, of course, but never done it herself. Well, not for an older gentleman, at any rate. Certain that she was making hundreds of tiny mistakes, the young woman plunged ahead anyway.

With speed but precision, Lori placed a single teacup directly on the table before Ayaka, careful to use both hands, but never touch the lip of the cup with her fingers. Then, she returned with the teapot. She bowed once. Then, using careful movements, she tipped the pot forward, bending only at the waist, keeping her feet together. What was important, Lori remembered, was that you poured the tea at a rapid but constant rate; no slops, no trickles! The tea must **_almost_** fill the cup. And then when you retracted the pot, the surface of the tea should be perfectly still. Only steam should be seen moving.

Ayaka watched the tea-pouring in complete silence, a sour look on her face.

Sweating her performance, Lori quickly returned the pot to the stove, then sat back in her chair. “Oh, Tanaka-san,” she gushed, taking care to sit in a ladylike position, “you seem like… such a… handsome and important man. Tell me about your work?”

Her face neutral, Ayaka nodded once. “I am the manager of a watch factory,” she intoned, sitting straighter. “I have many workers. We craft high-quality watches.”

_Watches??? Jeez… what am I supposed to do with that?_ Lori wondered.

Swallowing her nerves, the American student pressed on. She widened her eyes. “Oh my,” she almost giggled. “Watches? Oh, I love watches. You must be so incredibly smart to produce such a luxury item.” She tossed her blonde curls in a bashful giggle. “Maybe you can bring me one, next time?”

Ayaka broke character and burst out laughing.

“What?” Lori said, embarrassed. “Too flirty? Too bimboesque?”

“Not bad,” chuckled Ayaka, relaxing once more. “Not bad at all. Your tea-pouring is terrible. And you were far too aggressive. You’d scare away most of my customers with that wide-eyed, silly girl act.”

“Oh,” Lori said, surprised that she felt disappointed.

“But,” Ayaka continued thoughtfully, “you have the right instincts.” She lifted the tea to her lips, and blew once. “You knew to fawn over me in the right way. And the most important thing? You only asked **_about me_**. You never once tried to talk about you. I see so many new hostesses who lose customers because they prattle on about their apartments, their wardrobe, their cell phone, their boyfriends. The customers don’t care about you. They want **_you_** to make **_them_** feel like an emperor.”

Ayaka smiled in approval. “That’s what this job requires. All the other customs, those you can learn. I can teach you.”

Lori sagged back in her chair, relieved that she’d passed her roommate’s bizarre little test. “I’ll have to think about this,” she said, dejectedly remembering her financial woes.

Studying the American student closely, Ayaka set down her tea. She scooped up her purse, removing a single envelope, crafted in silken Japanese rice paper. The little package was lightly scented in perfume.

“This,” Ayaka said, placing the envelope on the table, “was my take for tonight.”

She lifted her teacup again, watching Lori.

The other woman hesitated for a moment, before peering inside the folded paper. Inside, was perhaps **_two hundred thousand yen_**, in crumpled and aging bills.

Lori gazed at Ayaka, her mouth hanging open in wonder.

*********


	2. Miwaku-Tekina

Osaka’s Kita District bristled with skyscrapers. Here, a generous number of corporations shared the neighborhood with bright neon shopping outlets, museums, and entertainment venues. The wealthy saw Kita as their playground, for it was where they both made their fortunes and then spent lavishly to divert themselves.

Travel a few blocks southwest from the dazzling architecture, however, and the district’s character changed. Buildings were squatter, clustered closer together. The streets narrowed, and in many places were cracked and broken. Streetlights rarely worked.

Off Gawataki Rd, the dubiously-named Imperial Hotel stood, vainly pretending to be a monument to class and elegance. Once, the hotel had proudly served aristocrats and titans of industry… but that was long ago. The current clientele was far less grand. Most only wanted rent their rooms by the hour, paid strictly in cash, and rarely signed the guestbook.

One of the side entrances of the Imperial was a set of plain, green doors, with flaking gold paint. There was no sign announcing that this was the entrance to _Miwaku-Tekina_, a hostess bar. _Miwaku_ occupied three floors, with no windows that faced out to the street. Customers found this establishment through its reputation; all other passers-by did not even realize there was a working business behind those doors.

The first two floors were for entertaining paying customers; the third floor contained some private suites, and then a small, shabby office. Like every room at _Miwaku_, this office had seen better days. Frayed carpets, furniture with small dents, and a tiny kitchenette were somehow arrayed around the little room. Everything in the office was tidy and spotlessly cleaned, just frayed with age and much use.

On the walls were a few electronic paintings, currently switched off. Like the Imperial Hotel itself, these paintings had once been the rage, decades ago. Each painting was an elaborate system of tiny, multicolored electronic lights, arranged so that when they blinked in sequence, they created an eye-pleasing swirly pattern. A handpainted screen was placed over the lights. When switched on, the paintings had a faint psychedelic effect… which is probably why they were popular in the 60s. But were regarded as lame and retro today.

Like the electric paintings, _Miwaku_’s general manager also seemed like a fugitive from a much hipper past. He was Hayato Hatanaka, a lean and scrawny fellow. Although he was a mere forty-five years in age, his face was worn and etched as if he were much, much older. Unusual for men of his age, Hatanaka’s smooth, black hair was very long, and stretched down his back in a tight ponytail. He wore a traditional business suit, modest by Japanese standards, but one that was well-cared for and hung on his frame like a second skin.

Hatanaka was tense. He leaned against the office desk, jutting out his jaw, and twirling a lit Parliament cigarette between his fingers. The expensive cigarettes were the only serious vice he permitted.

“This is risky,” the Japanese man muttered aloud. “Once the clients find out, well… we could lose control.”

“Perhaps you should not worry,” his companion said. “The situation, after all, is already out of your hands.”

Hatanaka turned his head, eyeing the other Japanese person in the room. This was Ms. Natsuki Fujimura, a slender woman of only thirty. Elegant yet conservative in appearance, Ms. Fujimura projected a cool, detached air. What thoughts lurked in her head, Hatanaka could not say. Ms. Fujimura stood before the kitchenette, her skills hands setting a classic, dark red teapot onto a tray.

The Japanese manager took a draw on his cigarette. “What do you mean?”

“_Miwaku_ cannot earn a profit, not on our current trajectory,” Ms. Fujimura replied absently. She was selecting a small teacup from the cupboard. “But if we were to expand the additional services…”

“Our clients would expect and then demand those extras,” Hatanaka huffed. “And then there would be no going back.” He scowled.

Ms. Fujimura bowed her head, a demure sign of respect. “As you say.”

She lifted the tray, then approached Hatanaka’s desk. The club manager watched her precise movements as she set the cup before his chair, then poured with the elegance of a master.

“It is my suspicion,” Ms. Fujimura said as she worked, “that the clients will pay even **_more_** than we anticipate. Our finances will be most profitable, indeed.”

Hatanaka scowled, “I will say again-“

There was a soft knock at the door. Both Hatanaka and Ms. Fujimura looked up in surprise.

“Were you expecting someone?” Hatanaka asked, quickly stabbing out his cigarette.

Ms. Fujimura frowned, shook her head, then moved to open the door.

Standing out in the cramped hallway was Ayaka and Lori. Both wore simple but sleek party dresses that matched their heels and nails. Lori was in red; Ayaka in light crystal blue. The American’s dress had a high collar, and her pinned-up blonde hair allowed a few curly strands of hair to hang down about her graceful neck, not unlike a weeping willow tree. It was hard to say which young woman looked more beautiful.

“Ah,” grunted Hatanaka. “I’d forgotten.” He gestured for the women to enter.

Lori allowed Ayaka to lead, as Ayaka had social precedence here. The American girl carefully stepped into the office, bowing once as Hatanaka’s hard eyes swept over her. But he bowed back.

For as long as she lived in Japan, Lori never quite got the hang of bowing. In other cultures, you bowed to a superior to show allegiance. But in Japan, everyone bowed to each other. That simple bend at the waist denoted respect and appreciation. But knowing when to bow or how low to bow… well, that was a puzzle. The general rule of thumb was to bow whenever you didn’t know what else to do.

“Thank you for this meeting, Hatanaka-san,” Ayaka said, bowing once more. “You have always said that you would hire another hostess, should I-“

“You didn’t say she was European,” interrupted Hatanaka. “Swedish?”

Lori glanced at her roommate. Japanese custom dictated that she had to wait to be acknowledged before she could speak. This was hard, as Lori was brought up in a family where everyone just yelled out opinions at the drop of a hat.

“Er, American, Hatanaka-san,” Ayaka corrected.

“Hmmgh,” mumbled Hatanaka, folding his arms over his chest. “American. Well, she is very pretty. **_Very_** pretty.”

Lori, uncertain how to accept this compliment… or if it even was a compliment… simply bowed.

“But the customers will never accept an American hostess,” pronounced Hatanaka. “Never. She’s too…” He searched for the word. “Too **_intimidating_**,” he finished. “The customers, they want a sweet, submissive girl.”

Lori resisted the urge to argue. Ayaka turned in her direction, indicating that **_now_** it was appropriate for her to speak.

“I assure you, Hatanaka-san,” the American student said smoothly, “I’m sure I can please your customers.”

_Miwaku_’s manager blinked in surprise. “Your Japanese is quite good,” he said. “Hmm. Very well. You can be a bikini girl at the bar.”

From Ayaka’s chagrined expression, Lori could tell that this was not an attractive proposition.

Hatanaka spread his hands, almost in apology. “Our customers are Japanese,” he explained. “They expect **_Japanese_** girls, and they want to be treated like Japanese lords. Foreign girls… they just make a mess of things.”

Hoping she sounded respectful, Lori replied with care: “I understand, Hatanaka-san. Perhaps you should know that I have come to Japan since I was a young girl. I have lived here for six years; I am a student at Osaka University.” She lowered her voice slightly. “I know how to flatter and please Japanese men.”

Hatanaka’s surprise was uncontainable. “I see…” he said slowly, then slid a curious glance at Ms. Fujimura.

The older Japanese woman’s face was completely unreadable.

“Very well…” mused Hatanaka. “Have you learned-“

“Forgive me, sir,” Lori said, bowing. “Ayaka has spent the last several days instructing me. I know I am ready.”

Almost amused, the Japanese man rubbed his chin. “We shall see,” he said.

With crisp, deliberate movements, he retreated to sit behind his desk, carefully setting aside the teacup. “Go to the kitchenette,” he instructed. “Select a second cup, then pour the tea for me. If you succeed, you may work here for one night, provisionally.”

Lori slid a triumphant glance at Ayaka. She lifted her head, her demeanor practically announcing, _I got this!_

*********

“You did well,” Ayaka complimented Lori with approval as the two young women descended to _Miwaku_’s main entertaining room. “Hatanaka-san rarely makes new hires upon a first meeting.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Lori, doing her best to steady herself. The carpet on the stairs was uneven; it made walking in high heels rather treacherous.

“Just don’t get cocky,” Ayaka advised. “There’s still a long way to go.”

The two women entered the main barroom, almost ready for the evening clients. The chamber was a wide, sprawling space, with a low ceiling and stuffy atmosphere. A run-down bar dominated the center of the room, but there were plenty of private little booths tucked into the corners. Small tables lined the walls. Every piece of furniture was chipped at least once, and no two pieces perfectly matched. Faded ink paintings of Japan’s samurai past hung on the walls.

The room was occupied by perhaps two dozen young Japanese women, all wearing small, slinky dresses, all in heels and makeup. Several were checking themselves in pocket mirrors; others were patting their hair. One particularly ambitious lady was carefully adjusting her cleavage, perhaps making sure the padding in her bra was comfortable.

Curious, scrutinizing eyes fell on Lori. The American student smiled faintly, but none of the women smiled back.

“They resent you already,” Ayaka murmured. “Don’t worry, they resent all the new girls.” With a glance at Lori’s chest, she added. “But they wish they had your big tits.”

“They’re not that big!” Lori whispered back, half in exasperation.

“In Japan, your boobs are huge, sweetie,” Ayaka replied dryly.

The lights dimmed, and three more young women appeared, all dressed in string bikinis. In a flash, Lori knew they were not Japanese; they were too dark and too curvy. Perhaps Indonesian or Polynesian? The bikini girls hurried to the bar, lit long sticks of jasmine incense, then began walking around the entertaining room, carefully spreading the fragmented mist everywhere. The lights were dimmed.

“They’re making the place dark and smoky,” realized Lori.

“Of course,” grumbled Ayaka, smoothing her dress over her stomach. “If the customers realized what a dump this place was, we’d all be out on the street.”

One of the bikinis drew a velvet rope across the stairwell. A sign saying “PRIVATE FANTASIES” hung from the rope.

“What’s that?” Lori darkly asked Ayaka, and nodded at the sign.

“Huh?” Ayaka replied, momentarily distracted because she was checking her nails. “Oh, right. Up the stairs are the entertaining rooms. If a client likes you enough, and he pays the house fee, he may invite you back there.”

“Ewww…!” Lori recoiled, not certain that she liked the sound of this.

“Oh, the entertaining rooms are just miniature versions of the main floor,” Ayaka assured her. “If a customer wants one, it just means that he doesn’t want to be seen. Privacy and all that. Very Japanese.”

“Uh-huh,” said Lori, not convinced.

“Well, there’s a million yen price tag before he can set foot in one of those,” Ayaka said airily. “So its pretty unlikely you’ll be invited to visit one. Don’t worry about it. Now, before I forget…”

Ms. Fujimura suddenly appeared from a door behind the bar. With a disapproving air, the prim woman strode quickly through the crowd of hostess girls.

“Its almost six o’clock, ladies,” she said, her voice slightly tense. “Is everyone ready?”

No-one responded, but all the young ladies immediately put away their accessories and fell into a kind of military formation behind the tall businesswoman. Ms. Fujimura moved into _Miwaku_’s large greeting foyer, towards the double doors which led outside. The hostesses followed her without a word. Meanwhile, the bikini’ed girls hurried to behind the bar. Soft jazz started to play on the club speakers.

“Oh,” Ayaka murmured to Lori, lightly touching her friend’s arm, “I almost forgot… Once the customers arrive, we can’t talk to one another. At all. You have to pretend like we don’t know each other.”

“Why?” Lori asked, bewildered.

“We’ll intimidate the customers,” said Ayaka, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “Some of these guys are shy – **_really_** shy – with women. You always have to make sure-“

“Quiet!” barked Ms. Fujimura, shooting an acid glare at Ayaka.

The hostess girls fell silent. They formed a single line, all facing the entranceway. Lori noted that most girls lowered their heads and stood with one leg forward.

Ms. Fujimura’s mouth tightened, but she said nothing more. With quick, precise movements, she released the locks, opened the double doors, and smiled warmly at the small crown outside.

“Gentlemen,” Lori heard her say in perfect, formal Japanese, “welcome to _Miwaku-Tekina_.”

And then the businesswoman retreated. The customers entered.

*********

Lori had no idea what to expect. Her first glance at _Miwaku_’s patrons was almost disappointing. They were men… average, middle-aged Japanese men. All wore coats and business suits, with corporate ties and designer shoes. Most were incredibly skinny, their necks turtlelike in their shirt collars. Some wore glasses; some were embarrassingly short; some were very bald; some had overbites; some sported pencil moustaches; some stooped a bit when they walked; some smiled reflexively, as if they weren’t aware what their face was doing. One absently mumbled to himself in an almost constant narrative.

**_Not one_** of these men had an ounce of charisma. Oh, their fine clothes suggested that they commanded respect and fear at their places of business. But here, in the presence of the _Miwaku-Tekina_ sirens, their arrogance melted away and they were no more rowdier than bashful sheep.

There was a slightly awkward ballet as the customers handed their overgarments off to Shiori, the coat-check girl, and then paid the twenty-thousand yen cover charge to Tsumugi, the admissions girl. The hostesses waited patiently, casting their alluring eyes.

And then finally, the first customer stepped forward, beaming at the row of loveliness before him. He was perhaps the shortest man of all, with thick glasses, pockmarks on his face, and a bulging Adam’s apple.

The man made eye contact with a stunning, willowy girl not far from Lori. The girl coyly smiled back, then blushed and lowered her eyes. Her performance was spot-on.

Immediately, the customer turned beet red, and a boylike smile spread over his face. He said nothing, but extended his hands toward his chosen companion, who glided forward. In once smooth motion, she took his arm and gently propelled him off to the bar, back in the main room. The customer never had a chance to resist.

Ayaka slid a glance at Lori. _That’s how its done_, her expression said.

Now the customers were stepping forward eagerly, selecting their dates, and retreating back into the shadows of the club. A tall, thin chap without a single hair on his head suddenly appeared before Ayaka, and she quietly giggled in pleasure as she accepted his arm. The two turned, and were gone.

Feeling surprised but heartened, Lori shifted her weight on her hips, tossed her blonde curls, and lowered her head just slightly.

*********

By nine PM, the American student was still without her first gentleman client. Oh, _Miwaku_’s patrons gaped at her. But none ever approached. Giggling didn’t help. Swirling her shoulders didn’t help. Coyly eyeing them while playing with her curls didn’t help. Lori was ogled, but then rejected every time.

The other hostesses were having far more luck. They dutifully stood by the entrance, smiling and subtly flirting whenever a new customer arrived. If a gentleman wished to conclude his evening, his lady would escort him back to the front door, wish him well, then resume a position in the greeting line for her next meal ticket. Some girls had “dated” three gentlemen already.

Doubt began to eat at Lori. She looked into the main barroom, now filled with maybe fifty gentlemen, all falling under the charms of the _Miwaku_ women. Feminine voices lilted in the air, usually saying things like, “_Oh, you’re _**so**_ funny,_” or “_you remind me of a former crush,_” or “_I just feel so comfortable with you,_” or “_well, you must be so much smarter than I am. Tee hee hee!_” And the customers were red-faced, smiling and relaxing, and spending freely.

There was a certain art to what the hostesses did. These men, Lori recognized, were powerful in their occupations and their home lives. Yet they willingly came here to be flattered and reduced to blushing boys. They lost track of the time and the yen that flowed from their wallets, and they didn’t care in the slightest. It was like they were tranquilized.

Across the barroom, Lori spotted Ayaka. She was fawning over another tall Japanese fellow, easily twice her age, with thinning hair and wearing large glasses. The customer allowed Ayaka to take his arm, then reached to caress her cheek.

Instantly, Ayaka slapped him! Once, right across the cheek!

Lori stared, shocked to the core. Surely Ayaka would be fired… right?

The customer recoiled, but a desirous smile crossed his face. He hung his head.

“There, now,” Ayaka said firmly. “Bad boy. Behave yourself.”

“Yes, mama,” the customer sheepishly replied.

Ayaka nodded, signaling that she was satisfied. The two resumed their conversation. Yet Lori could tell; the man was itching to caress her again. And get slapped again.

Lori pursed her lips, studying her roommate. There was something different about Ayaka, something… regal. She held her head high. She flashed her eyes in a demanding way, and her voice had a hard edge in it. She was playing the dominant role!

The realization stunned Lori. Japanese women were **_never_** supposed to be the dominant ones, particularly in service settings like _Miwaku-Tekina_. And yet, there was Ayaka, acting like a queen. Her customer positively loved it.

_I have a lot to get about Japanese culture,_ Lori thought sourly. No doubt if she tried to slap a customer, Ms. Fujimura would chuck her headfirst into the back alley.

A scrawny businessman entered the club, almost trembling as he handed his coat to Shiori. He was even shorter than Lori, with a tiny goatee, big buck teeth, and ears that stood out like wings. His hands hung limply from his bony wrists, a sign of insecurity. But his suit was very expensive, and there was a perl clip on his tie. A high-roller.

_Maybe what I need is a little American sizzle,_ Lori mused. It was time to change tactics.

Swooping down on the new customer, Lori fixed him in her brightest smile. “Welcome to _Miwaku-Tekina_,” she beamed. “I hope you will find our modest hospitality to be to your liking.”

With confidence, she took the little man by the arm. “May I show you our establishment?” she murmured, standing close. “Or, if you wish, I can arrange for one of my girlfriends to show you. But I was hoping you might pick me.” She added that last sentence in a whisper, making sure to lower her eyelids and blush slightly.

The Japanese man gazed at her, transfixed. “I’m… Yuki Nakashima,” he mumbled, unable to tear his eyes away from Lori. “I am the Executive Manager for Development at Nishini Technologies.”

“**_Executive_** Manager?” Lori breathed, allowing her smile to widen. “Oh my goodness… You must be responsible for so many people!”

Mr. Nakashima broke out into a befuddled grin. “Do you like sake?” he asked hopefully.

*********

For a Thursday, _Miwaku-Tekina_ turned some brisk business. Three hundred forty-seven customers came – hardly a record – each spending an average of nine hundred thousand yen.

The last customer was politely ushered out shortly after midnight. After he was put into his coat and then into a taxi, Lori immediately noticed all the other hostess girls visibly relax. Easygoing smiles melted. The young women rubbed their own necks and lower backs, weary from a long night of performing. Some were more than a little tipsy.

Ayaka appeared at Lori’s side, looking beat. “How’d you do?” she asked wearily.

“Good, I guess,” Lori replied. “I saw four gentlemen, two who wanted to brag about their promotions, two who were so tongue-tied, they never once looked at me.”

“Nice,” complemented Ayaka. “I knew you’d be a natural at this.”

*********

The _Miwaku_ women were paid in cash, once Ms. Fujimura worked out everyone’s cut. There was a brief closing ceremony as the prim businesswoman handed each hostess a scented envelope and a stern reminder to keep up the good work. The minute the young women had their envelope, they snatched their coats and vanished. It was half-past midnight.

“Every night is different,” Ayaka said to Lori, discreetly slipping her own envelope into her purse. The two roommates were in the foyer, waiting on Shiori to find their overcoats. “Your cut is twenty percent of what your customer spends, minus his admission. I don’t know how they track it all, but I’ve never heard any complaints.”

Curious, Lori started to peek inside her own envelope.

“No, don’t!” Ayaka said quickly. “You’ll insult Hatanaka-san. Count it at home.”

Lori nodded, embarrassed at her greedy display.

Stifling a yawn, the blonde woman said, “Hey, can I ask you something else about this job?”

Ayaka glanced about. All the other girls were tired; none were eavesdropping.

“Sure,” she allowed.

“That tall guy,” Lori said, “the one losing his hair, with glasses. The one you slapped. How did you-“

“Slapped?” frowned Ayaka. “What do you mean, **_slapped_**?”

Lori hesitated. Had she committed another _faux-paus_? The last thing she needed was to disgust Ayaka with more ignorant behavior. “Forget it,” she said quickly.

The two roommates fell silent, wearily reflecting on the day. Lori found that her hand was gratefully fingering her envelope from Ms. Fujimura. It felt thick.

Smiling to herself, the American student began to think of those Manolo Blahniks which matched her flowered blouse…

*********


	3. Additional Services

Ms. Fujimura was always the first employee to arrive at _Miwaku-Tekina_ every day. It was she who greeted the cleaning staff, supervised the deliveries of kitchen supplies and alcohol, who oversaw the transfer of profits to the bank’s armored car off the loading dock. She dutifully tended the books, kept an eye on the inventories, and even calculated the efficiency of every last dishwasher and bartender. Nothing escaped her hawklike glare.

But her primary responsibilities took place whenever the phone rang. The instant that gentle ring sounded, she would scoop up her wireless headset and seclude herself into the main office.

The first call came a 12:03 PM.

“Good afternoon, _Miwaku-Tekina_. May I help you?” Ms. Fujimura murmured smoothly.

The husky male voice on the other end seemed hesitant. “_Good afternoon. I would like to inquire about… the additional services._”

“Of course, sir,” Ms. Fujimura replied smoothly. She scooped up a pen and a notebook. “Perhaps you can visit our establishment in person? This makes for a more private conversation.”

*********

The husky-voiced customer arrived within an hour, long before the club opened. He turned out to be short, but stocky. Probably in his mid-thirties, he had broad shoulders, unusual for Japanese men, and a bit of a hunch when he stood. His powerful arms and legs fit well within his custom business suit, which was immaculate even by Japanese standards. Ms. Fujimura immediately noticed his manicure and Nosema silk handkerchief, status symbols among Japan’s business elite.

But his most distinctive feature was the unfortunate scar that ran down his broad face. Long ago, this poor man had been in an automobile crash, costing him his left eye. Now, he wore a silk-covered eyepatch that squatted over his deformity.

In business, this aberration did little to harm his social dominance. But it would almost certainly cause him to be outcast from the daughters of wealthy Japanese families. No doubt he was struggling to find a suitable wife.

Ms. Fujimura bowed deeply the moment the customer appeared, and she gestured for him to follow her. The two swept through _Miwaku_’s main barroom, ignoring the curious looks from the Korean cleaning people. Ms. Fujimura and her guest slipped behind the velvet cordon and headed into a private sitting chamber. She shut the door behind them.

Here, there was a pair of American-style leather couches, a small table, two chairs, and a private sound system. A miniature bar was mounted into the far wall, and Ms. Fujimura now unlocked this with a tiny silver key which appeared in her elegant fingers. The lighting was soft, but not dim.

“May I offer you some refreshment, sir?” she asked, using formal addressing.

The customer, obviously uncomfortable, looked about. “Ah, no, please,” he rumbled.

Ms. Fujimura hesitated, then reached for a small red teapot. She quickly went to work.

“I’d like to discuss the specifics quickly, if you don’t mind,” the customer grunted, lowering himself into one of the chairs. “My time is valuable.”

“Of course, sir,” Ms. Fujimura murmured. “How might I address you?”

The man hesitated only a moment. “I am Haruto Tanaka,” he said unconvincingly.

“_Haruto Tanaka_” was about as common as “_John Smith._” But Ms. Fujimura nodded once in acceptance.

“Of course, Tanaka-san,” she smiled, turning towards her customer. “If I may ask: How did you hear about our additional services?”

Tanaka’s face flickered. “The other customers,” he mumbled. “They mentioned it. I thought…”

“I understand,” the woman said easily. “Forgive me, but you do know that the services’ fees are quite… expanded?”

The two talked figures.

“That’s quite exuberant,” frowned Tanaka.

“Then perhaps we can discuss your expectations,” suggested Ms. Fujimura. She turned back to the minibar, and selected a single liquored teacup, frosted white on the outside, deep jade green on the inside.

“Well…” Tanaka said, then his expression fell.

Ms. Fujimura smiled in an understanding way. Her special customers often had a difficult time with this phase of the conversation. In America or Europe, a man could speak about his romantic or sexual fantasies in the open. But not in Japan.

“Take your time,” she advised, setting the teacup before her customer. Then, in perfect, graceful execution, she lifted the teapot and poured the tea. The gentle fragrance of jasmine lingered in the room.

Tanaka watched her, approving of her mastery. He sighed, struggling with the words within him.

“Perhaps you can describe how you would like to meet your companion?” suggested Ms. Fujimura, returning the little teapot to the minibar.

The businessman nodded, trying to concentrate on the ceiling. “Well… she will be beautiful… desirable… a unique blossom.” He nodded. “Yes, unique.”

“Of course,” coaxed Ms. Fujimura, folding her slender hands before her hips.

“She will approach me,” Tanaka said awkwardly. “Yes, she will… no…”

He grimaced, obviously squirming to express his desires.

“Take your time, sir,” suggested his hostess. “Such matters are delicate, and cannot be rushed.”

Tanaka frowned again, but he lifted the small teacup to his lips. He blew on the hot liquid, then sipped once.

“I’ve only been to your club twice,” the man confessed, shifting in his chair. “Your young ladies are the loveliest I’ve ever seen.”

“We are very selective,” said Ms. Fujimura, bowing in appreciation of the compliment.

Tanaka sipped again, feeling his muscles relax slightly. He sighed, setting the teacup back onto the table.

“Now then,” Ms. Fujimura demurred, “perhaps you can describe your encounter once more?”

“Yes,” agreed Tanaka, drawing a hand over his scarred face. “Yes… Yes, I will see her when I first arrive at the club. And she will approach me. No, wait,” he said suddenly. “**_I_** will approach **_her_**. I will go up to her and say, ‘_You will be mine for the night._’”

“Of course,” Ms. Fujimura said. “Please describe freely.”

“She will be…” Tanaka grinned slightly, stealing another sip of tea. “She will be so beautiful. **_So beautiful_**. Tall, elegant, refined. Like a classic princess.” He sighed.

“If I may, sir,” Ms. Fujimura said, bowing slightly, “but it is best if you describe what your heart most desires. Your discretion is assured; you may tell me of your wildest fantasies.” She paused before adding, “Whatever you wish.”

“My woman…” Tanaka smiled, his eye becoming slightly unfocused. “She will be… sleazy. Tall, beautiful, well-dressed… but **_sleazy_**. Like gaudy American movie star!” He laughed quietly to himself. “She will have wonderful lips, big eyes, and nice… big…” He cupped his hands. “…breasts. Yes,” he murmured, “big breasts. Great, big breasts.”

“Of course, sir,” said Ms. Fujimura, bowing again slightly.

“I want blonde hair,” Tanaka said suddenly. “Last night, I saw you have a blonde girl. I have always wanted a blonde American. Like Marilyn Monroe. Big breasts. Blonde hair.”

“Tell me about what happens when you meet.”

“When I see her,” grinned Tanaka, “I walk right up to her. I say, ‘_You will be mine for the night._’ There are no arguments. No protests. She simply looks at me and says, ‘_I am yours._’ And then she does as I command.”

The stocky man sipped again. “I take her to this room,” he said carelessly. “At first, she is… saucy. Spunky. Tries to take control. Tries to swindle me out of my money. But then I grab her by the wrist.” He reclined in the chair, his grin growing wider. “I grab her by the wrist. And she cannot resist my manliness.”

“Good, Tanaka-san,” Ms. Fujimura smiled, approving. “Please continue.”

“I command her,” Tanaka went on, staring into space. “She removes her dress. She is wearing nothing underneath – nothing. When she is finished…”

He broke off, hesitating.

“Tell me **_everything_**, sir,” Ms. Fujimura prompted softly.

“When she removes her dress, she is completely naked…” Tanaka said. “She moans. Like American porn woman. She touches her vagina. She lies down on the couch so I can watch her. She makes herself pleasure. And then…”

He sighed, lost in the fantasy.

*********

Lori could already tell that working as a _Miwaku_ hostess was going to take some adjustment. It sounded like she would be expected to work from six PM to midnight, six days a week. Evenings could go longer, if big spenders attended. And it would take, at minimum, an hour or more to get home once the club closed.

So right off the bat, Lori could see that she needed to cancel all her morning classes. There was simply no way she would be rested enough for any lecture – given in Japanese – before 11 AM. That cramped her academic schedule… but was still manageable.

Another challenge was how to safely deal with an all-cash salary. The yen she earned needed to be deposited into the bank so she could use it for rent or tuition. She could see the suspicious looks of the Japanese bank tellers when she arrived with stacks of bills. And it was always very tempting to go shopping with all that cash in hand.

But all-in-all, Lori thought she could manage all of these problems. If she could work as a hostess girl, at least until her degree was completed, she might make it after all.

*********

It didn’t take long to fall into the natural rhythm of the life of a hostess. Lori typically rose from bed after 10 AM, jumping in and out of the shower to be on campus for her classes no later than noon. She’d be a student for most of the afternoon, until the sun began to set. Then, feeling like a superhero with a secret identity, she’d hurry back to her apartment, shower again, and then change into a suitable dress for the evening. She and Ayaka would share a taxi, sometimes hurriedly applying their makeup at red traffic stops.

The customers grew easy to handle. Ayaka was right; these men simply wanted to feel attractive. As _Miwaku_’s only blonde, Lori had a bit of a disadvantage, as she stood out. There was nothing more un-Japanese than standing out in a crowd. But the customers swooned for her cheerful laugh, melted whenever she whispered awed compliments, and fawned over her whenever she pouted for them to spend just ten more minutes in her company. She grew used to, and then immune to, the number of customers who gawked openly at her American-sized chest.

The biggest problem with working as a _Miwaku_ hostess, Lori decided, was that she no longer had time for her social life. Evenings and nights were needed to make money.

*********

At home, Nanami and Hiyori were growing suspicious. When Lori provided a wad of cash to cover utilities, Nanami pressed her lips together in unspoken disapproval.

“Lori,” she said suddenly.

The American student paused. It was 4:30 in the afternoon; soon she would have to shower to get ready for work. As circumstances had it, Lori and Nanami were alone in the apartment’s sitting room.

Nanami fixed Lori in a concerned look. “It is not my business,” she said tenderly, “but you don’t worry about money now, do you?”

“I try not to,” replied Lori, displeased at her roommate’s tone.

The Japanese woman drew closer, resting a hand on Lori’s forearm. “Oh, Lori,” she whispered, “you aren’t working in the **_sex industry_**, are you?”

Offended, Lori let her jaw drop.

“I wouldn’t think less of you if you were,” Nanami said quickly. “But… oh, Lori, that is not safe work!”

Nanami was a prelaw student, specializing in social work. She knew about sex trafficking, slavery rings, abusive treatment of prostitutes, and worse. In Asia, stories of what happened to the women sucked into these horrible underground industries were grisly indeed.

But Lori saw a world of difference between fleecing the customers of _Miwaku-Tekina_ and the cases Nanami studied. And she certainly didn’t think of herself as a “sex worker.”

“What I do to hold up my keep is **_my business_**,” she said stiffly. And then pulled back from Nanami’s grasp.

*********

Two weeks after Lori started at _Miwaku,_ it rained all day long. In Japan, rain is heavy and oppressive, and immediately the American student doubted that the club would draw many customers. But she and all the other hostesses prepared themselves nonetheless.

As the hour neared six o’clock, Ms. Fujimura appeared in the main barroom, as usual. This time, however, she had unusual instructions.

“Where is Lori?” she frowned, craning her neck to scan across the sea of hostesses.

The American student froze. “Uh… here, Fujimura-san,” she called out hesitantly.

Immediately, the Japanese businesswoman locked eyes. “Head up to the office,” she instructed, a no-nonsense tone in her voice. “Mr. Hatanaka wishes to see you.”

Lori’s stomach flipped. She glanced worriedly at Ayaka.

“Go on,” snapped Ms. Fujimura. “Hatanaka-san does not like to be kept waiting.”

Ayaka offered Lori a shrug and a look that said, _You might as well go_.

There was nothing to be done. Wishing she knew what was in store, Lori crossed the barroom, slipped behind the velvet rope, and then hurried up the stairs.

*********

_Miwaku_’s office was exactly as Lori remembered it: threadbare, cramped, uninviting. For some odd reason, one of the electric paintings was softly glowing. As the colors pulsed and swirled, they created a dreamlike, smoothing pattern.

Mr. Hatanaka, sitting at his desk, looked up. He waved Lori in before she could politely knock.

“Enter,” the club manager rumbled. “Close the door, please.”

_Uh-oh_, Lori thought to herself. Was she about to be lectured? Or **_fired?_**

She pushed the office door shut, noting that it was set to lock.

“Very good,” Hatanaka said, rising from his desk. He gestured to the small kitchenette. “Ms. Fujimura prepared the tea. Please serve each of us a cup?”

Lori bit her lip, but there wasn’t time to puzzle over circumstances. She moved to the kitchenette. Sure enough, there was that small, dark red teapot, steaming on the hotplate. Two lacquer teacups were placed neatly to the side. There was no serving tray.

_This has got to be some test_, Lori fretted to herself. _I know how to pour tea for a man, but what about for a couple? Is there some special trick? What would Ayaka do?_

Behind her, Lori was aware of Mr. Hatanaka sitting down at a little table. He was watching her most intently.

_Goddamnit,_ Lori swore to herself. She had no idea how to serve Japanese tea for two.

Well, she knew enough that a proper Japanese woman would never handle a teacup except from the bottom. One’s fingers must never touch the places where the tea or a guest’s lips would touch. And Japanese teacups have no handles, as do American coffee mugs or English teacups. So there was no way to carry both cups **_and_** the hot teapot in one go. She’d have to make two trips.

Trying to look elegant, Lori lifted up the cups, then glided to Hatanaka’s table. Bowing at the waist, she set one cup before her employer, then other before where she was obviously meant to set.

Then, using more smooth and deliberate movements, she returned to the kitchenette, fetched the teapot, and poured two neat cups. Not so much as an extra drop of tea dripped from the spout as she lifted up.

_I hope that does it,_ Lori thought, returning the teapot. She switched off the burner.

“Please,” Hatanaka intoned. “Sit.” He remained in his chair, his back ramrod-straight.

So Lori obeyed, making sure to sit Japanese-style; her back also straight, her hands folded in her lap.

Hatanaka’s expression betrayed none of his thoughts. Over his shoulder, Lori could clearly see the electronic painting, glowing and swirling away. The colors were distracting.

“Tell me,” Hatanaka rumbled, “how do you think you are doing here at _Miwaku_?”

This was another test. In America, a new employee would be expected to gush, _Oh, just great! I love working here and making a difference every day!_

Lori pursed her lips delicately. “I… enjoy my contributions,” she said, bowing her head once. “I hope I am equal to the other girls here.”

Hatanaka’s fingers twitched once. His stony expression softened, just a little. “Very good,” his deep baritone rumbled. “I think you are doing well…”

Relief flooded through Lori. She allowed a smile to escape, and said, “Oh, thank-“

“**_So far_**,” Hatanaka finished.

Inside, the American student flinched.

“You do know how to charm our customers,” remarked Hatanaka, lifting his teacup with one hand. “And I can see that they are becoming curious about you. That is good. But you also still behave like a foreigner. And that is denying you repeat business.”

Lori’s polite smiled faded.

“You cannot prosper at _Miwaku_ if you cannot attract repeat business,” the club owner said softly, absently swirling his teacup. “But I think you can establish a regular clientele here. If you are willing to accept my tutorage.”

“Please,” he added, gesturing to Lori’s own drinking vessel, “drink.”

Lori let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. So she **_wasn’t_** about to be fired. That was a relief.

The American lifted her teacup with both hands, then politely sipped, once. The tea was hot and bitter.

*********

The evening was still in full swing when Lori finally made it back downstairs. Hatanaka-san had spent, what? thirty minutes filling her head with advice, and she felt more than a little dizzy. There was so much to learn about Japanese men.

With some surprise, the American student found Ayaka still standing in the greeting line. “Hey,” she whispered to her roommate. “Slow night?”

“We always do poorly when it rains,” sighed Ayaka. She smiled and patted her friend on the arm. “How’d it go?”

“Huh?” Lori mumbled. Her head was still a little cloudy. “Oh, Hatanaka-san thinks I’m not Japanese enough yet. He wants me to work on cultivating repeat customers.”

“Wise,” agreed Ayaka. “In fact, I was thinking-“

The double green doors opened. Stepping in from the rain was a short, squat man, hunched over from the drenching weather. Lori immediately thought that he must lift weights for exercise, as the man had thick, powerful arms and legs. He stripped out of his water-covered overcoat, revealing his tailored business suit and white, silk tie.

The man thrust his dripping coat at Shiori, then turned to peer at the hostess girls. Lori sucked in a breath of surprise; the man had a long gash down the left side of his face. A black eyepatch covered his lost eye.

Beside her, Lori could tell that Ayaka was intrigued by this handicapped… but obviously **_rich_**… stranger. Already, the Japanese young woman was lowering her face in demure submission.

But the man ignored Ayaka. His lone eye swept over the line of hostesses, coming to rest on Lori. His glare was positively eaglelike. Lori couldn’t help but stare back.

The man smiled, a squat grin that seemed to enjoy a private joke.

Then, with an aggressive bearing Lori had not seen in a _Miwaku_ customer, Eyepatch lumbered straight up to her. “**_You will be mine for the night,_**” he growled.

Lori felt a strange feeling possess her. The desire to cater to this man was overwhelming.

“_I am yours_,” she heard herself reply.

*********


	4. A Letter of Sponsorship

The private entertaining room was small, run-down, but very, very clean. Lori and her gentleman secluded themselves inside. To her surprise, the American student found herself setting the lock.

Worse… She’d completely forgotten to take her new client past the bar! Now neither of them had anything to drink.

Youch, what a rookie mistake! How was she supposed to coax this guy to start spending his millions of yen? Men who do not drink do not spend. Lori resisted the urge to slap her own forehead.

The gentleman was watching her, very closely.

Feeling somewhat odd, Lori found herself giggling, then shrugging her shoulders. “Aw, geez,” she mugged, “we forgot drinkies! You want some bubbly, honey?”

_Drinkies?_ the American thought in alarm. _Bubbly? Honey?_ Yes, those had been the words she’d spoken aloud. _What am I, a 1920’s floozy?_ she wondered absently. _Get it together girlfriend, before this guy dumps you for one of the Japanese girls downstairs…_

“No drinks,” the Japanese man insisted.

“No drinks?” echoed Lori. That strange feeling in her mind was growing stronger. “**_No drinks?_**” she repeated, this time in an almost-mocking tone. “What, you think you ‘n me can party without some booze?”

“No drinks,” her companion said firmly. Oddly enough, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

Although she knew better, Lori felt the chip on her shoulder getting larger. “Naw, dude,” she drawled, using the informal form that she might use to tease a classmate. She jabbed a thumb towards herself. “Mamma says we need drinks. Get me?” Now she pointed at the leather couches. “So you park it, buster, and I’ll get use some juice. Get me? I’ll just need…” She hesitated. “…mmm, three thousand. In cash. Right now.”

Deep down inside, Lori was horrified. _What am I DOING?_ she thought, reeling. The _Miwaku_ bar was overpriced, to be sure, but three thousand yen would buy enough liquor for a boatload of sailors.

As if guessing at her deception, the customer lunged forward, grabbing Lori’s right wrist. His grip was firm, but not painful.

“No drinks,” the man said once more, his only eye staring straight into Lori’s soul. “But you will remove all of your clothes. **_Do it._**”

The American student felt as if she’d been struck by lightning. Suddenly, her will dissolved. She couldn’t resist this new demand.

“I will remove all my clothes,” she murmured blankly.

The Japanese man grinned, releasing her. Immediately, Lori felt her hands rise up to reach behind her neck. She arched her back, letting her breasts jut forward. Then her fingers found her dress’s zipper, and she tugged it downwards.

_What the fuck am I **DOING?**_ Lori heard herself think.

But she could not stop herself. Her customer had commanded her, and she had to obey. She had to. There was no realistic way to stop herself.

Besides… now that he had spoken… Lori **_wanted_** this man to see her naked. She wanted to shed her dress, her shoes, her leggings, even her panties, and she longed for the customer to scrutinize her nude body from head to toe. The thought of his greedy eye rolling over every inch of her… Mmmm…

To her surprise, Lori realized: She was growing aroused!

“Unzip me?” she murmured, turning about, and lifting up her hair.

The customer stepped closer. His thick thumb and finger closed in on the tiny zipper handle, and then Lori felt the dress part as he pulled downward. The stuffy air conditioning felt **_wonderful_** on her bare skin!

The American student slipped out of her shoes, sliding her garment down and wriggling her hips at the same time. In one slow, deliberate tease, she pushed her dress, stockings, and panties all the way down to the floor. She still faced away from her gentleman, and it strangely thrilled her to know that he was now staring at her completely naked rear. She almost longed for him to grab her buttocks.

After a slow, tortuous minute, Lori was completely unclothed. She stood up, pleased that her hair had come unpinned, and was now bouncing joyfully around her bare shoulders.

“Turn around,” the customer growled.

Lori obeyed without hesitation. She stood before her man, quietly smiling, inviting him to feast on her nakedness.

And feast he did. “Mmmm…” the man sighed, his greedy eye washing over Lori’s breasts, her trim stomach, her curvy hips, and finally her long legs.

The entranced American wanted to speak. She longed to moan, “_Do I please you?_” Or even, “_Do you like what you see, baby?_” But she had not been given permission to speak. Her tongue was still.

“Lie on the couch,” the man whispered, his voice husky with lust. “Touch yourself. You are a slutty American porn woman; show me how you pleasure yourself.”

Lori smiled, pleased for instructions. Suddenly, she wanted to do as she was bid. She wanted to touch herself. She wanted to masturbate, like never before.

Moving as if possessed, Lori lowered herself onto the sofa, spreading her legs very wide. The cool air kissed her genitals, and she gasped a little.

Already, her body was activating. As her eager right hand slid down her smooth stomach, Lori’s legs bent slightly. Her spine arched, pushing her shoulders and butt harder against the soft leather couch. Her left hand wandered, finding one of her nipples. It was erect and harder than stone.

And then… her fingertips touched her own wetness. Lori couldn’t keep her own eyes open. She sighed, allowing her lids to shut as her fingers went to work.

As she began losing herself to the sexual ecstasy, Lori was dimly aware of her customer moving within the room. He strolled to the end of the sofa, positioning himself so that he could see her vagina, and then all the way up her body. The American student moaned, surprising herself that this little voyeurism was making her even more excited. She hoped she was giving a good show.

Lori was not one to enjoy masturbation. In high school, she’d realized that her alluring body, blonde hair, and natural beauty would always guarantee that she could find a sex partner. Physical activity with boys was enjoyable and the proper way to experience orgasm; masturbation was the cheap substitute.

Until now. Now, feeling her customer’s eye upon her vagina, Lori was inspired. She wanted to feel the height of sexual gratification, and she wanted it to come from her fingers, and she wanted this man to watch. She had no inhibitions, no shame whatsoever. He had commanded her, and she was horny to obey.

Lori stroked harder, enjoying the wetness she felt building up in her loins. Ohhhhhhh, this felt so good! So good! Nothing else mattered.

Dimly, the hostess girl was aware that her customer was unzipping his own pants. Perhaps he was going to jack off? Or climb on top of her and fuck her? Or simply get naked? Lori did not put much thought into the matter.

Oh, she was close. **_She was close!_** Her vagina sang, gaining new passions with each pass of her fingers. It was so moist down there, Lori could hear the soft wet noise, like someone was crushing a grapefruit. The sound excited her. She bit her lip, and…

The couch moved, and then her customer was on top of her. He was naked, save for the eyepatch. Lori grinned wickedly, delighted that he was about to enter her. She felt his rock-erect cock over her pelvis, and with a quick but skilled movement, she guided his tip right into her hanger.

Normally, Lori liked it when a guy just entered her a **_little_** bit, just a few inches in, before retreating. “Inch-fucking,” she’d once called this with a boyfriend. Inch-fucking could drive her wild, because when done just right, her clit was being rubbing **_nonstop_**. She didn’t need the deep penetration. She only wanted to be teased into climax.

But that was before her customer had cast this strange love-spell over her. Now, in her sex haze, Lori wanted to be **_FUCKED_**. She wanted to feel that marble-like cock shoved deep within her, as if it was trying to ram all the way up her spine. She wanted to feel the power of this man’s hips. She wanted to be rocked so hard, her teeth rattled. She wanted to be throttled so that her screams of joy would escape her lips, and people six blocks away would hear her and feel nothing but burning jealousy.

Lori pushed her hips forward, coaxing her man, angling her canal for his entry. And Eyepatch did not disappoint.

The first thrust rocketed all the way in, hammering her at top speed. Lori shrieked in delight, clawing the Japanese man’s shoulders. She barely had a chance to cry out when he plunged in again. And then again. **_And then again!_**

Now the man was fucking her at lightspeed, and it was all Lori could do to hang on and keep her bones from flying apart. She felt as if she was riding a locomotive into a heaven of sinful delights. Her vagina, already on the edge of a massive orgasm, couldn’t take all the stimulation.

Lori came.

She wailed in happiness, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and pulling her man to her even closer. He was breathing heavily, and she was thrilled to feel the sheen of sweat on his back. The cock was plugging her even harder now, even harder!

When the Japanese man climaxed, Lori didn’t even notice. Her mind was blasted into another dimension, alight with wonder and happiness. Her thoughts winked out, and she smiled as she fell into a deep, deep sleep.

*********

Lori was a little uncertain what happened next. She was dreaming, her mind drifting along in a wonderous, cloudlike environment. Her body felt wonderful, as if she’d spent a nonstop week at the spa. Every muscle tingled with satisfaction and joy.

Dimly, the American student was aware of her customer rising off her, putting on his clothes, then stumbling from the room. She didn’t care. In fact, as he departed, Lori hoped he felt as wonderful about himself as she felt now.

And then… some time later… there was a small hand on her shoulder. A voice was speaking to her. A voice, unfamiliar yet comforting. The voice told her that she would forget, that her mind would release the memories of everything that had happened to her. Instead, she would believe…

*********

“Hey girl,” Ayaka smiled. “Was he a good tipper?”

Lori blinked. Where was she?

The American looked about, the universe rapidly falling into place about her. She was in her black evening dress and matching heels. Her hair was down. She and Ayaka and perhaps a dozen other hostesses were standing in _Miwaku_’s foyer, waiting for customers. It was late.

It was very, very late. Almost 11:45! _Miwaku_ would be closing soon.

Ayaka was still smiling, awaiting an answer.

“Oh,” Lori said, her thoughts coming into order. “Yeah. Yes. Yes, that eyepatch guy?” She smiled. “Oh, he was actually so sweet. He just wanted to talk about…” Lori paused, searching her memory. “…oh, about the law firm where he works. He’s a senior partner. We just drank champagne and talked for **_ages_**.” She smiled absently.

Ayaka broke out into a pleased grin. “I knew you could do it,” she nodded.

*********

The lights in _Miwaku_ went out shortly after 1 AM. The last of the hostess girls departed, then the small kitchen staff, and then the club’s two bouncers. Ms. Fujimura, who would have to be back on-premise early in the morning, had long since left.

But up in the club’s office, Mr. Hatanaka sat at his desk, booting up an old laptop. As the computer slowly came to life, he lit a Parliament cigarette, then released the band that contained his ponytail. It had been a stressful day. He needed to relax, badly.

The laptop was ready. Frowning, the club manager popped a memory stick into the side, then clicked around until he found the video file he was looking for. He clicked PLAY.

The screen filled with a grainy image. Lori and her eyepatched customer were in one of the entertainment rooms; the camera was spying on them from a hidden vantage in the ceiling. As Hatanaka watched, the American girl shifted her hips back and forth, clucking, “_Aw, geez, we forgot drinkies! You want some bubbly, honey?_”

“_No drinks,_” Eyepatch rumbled.

Hatanaka watched carefully as the customer’s fantasy unfolded. Lori responded perfectly, carrying out her hypnotic programming without the slightest awareness of how she was being controlled. She became a saucy slut, just as ordered. Then, she lost her inhibitions and became deeply aroused, exactly when the customer had directed. She fucked him like a porn star. She performed like a pro.

And, best of all, she remembered nothing afterword. To her, the whole episode would be little more than the fragment of a lost dream.

Exhaling smoke, Hatanaka mused to himself. The video made him feel slightly better. Clearly, the hypnosis worked on the girls. Lori was not the first to be entranced and controlled, but she was the first to strip naked and shag a customer. And the man had left very, very satisfied. Already, he’d placed two more orders for time with the blonde girl.

There was room for improvement, however. The customer had fucked Lori without protection. So the club policy would have to insist on a Safe Sex Only policy, and Hatanaka would have to think about how he could make sure his patrons were **_always_** following the rules. And what if a customer wanted to get physically violent during a fantasy? There were some serious logistical problems yet to be worked out.

And yet… the initial results were promising. Very promising.

Hatanaka stabbed out his Parliament, already reaching for another. The eyepatched man had paid **_twenty million yen_** for his tryst with the fantasy American blonde. And it was fairly obvious he would have paid more. Much more.

Ms. Fujimura had been right. The key to higher profits was to expand the additional services.

*********

January rolled into February.

While Lori was having trouble finding enough time in the week for sleep, she was by-and-large very pleased with how she’d managed to land on her feet. Why, had it only been **_a month ago_** that her idiot mother had left the whole Greene family destitute? And while Lori’s siblings were scraping for college loans and working fast food, (**_ha!_**) the American blonde was still living comfortably in one of the world’s most glamorous cities, paying her own way with money to spare. And all she had to do was romance a few desperate Japanese men. She felt lucky to have beaten the system.

Even better, Lori was discovering what a good friend Ayaka could be. Now that the two women shared a dark secret, they learned to commiserate. They shared private jokes. They became experts at doing one another’s makeup, which quickly translated to becoming each other’s fashion consultant. Lori trusted Ayaka’s tutorage in Japanese culture; Ayaka liked Lori’s taste in clothes and colors. They were becoming sisters.

*********

One of Lori’s best days since becoming a _Miwaku-Tekina_ hostess came on a Sunday, her one day off. Bored with catching up with schoolwork, Lori and Ayaka spontaneously decided to go shopping together.

“We deserve it!” crowed Ayaka.

Lori needed little encouragement. Soon, the two women were at the exclusive HERBIS ENT Plaza Mall, inspecting racks of gorgeous clothes at Gucci and Tiffany’s. It was fun. Knowing that Ayaka was hunting for hostess outfits, Lori could suggest options, then tease her Japanese roommate in that playful way only two close girlfriends could use.

Six hundred thousand yen later, the two ladies were sharing a sushi lunch platter at the HERBIS food court. Lori scanned the crowds about them, enjoying the moment.

But soon, she realized she was focused on the men. All around, there were Japanese men of all ages, all sizes, from all walks of life. Fathers, shoppers, food servers, janitors, boyfriends, business executives, retirees, vendors… they were all swirling about her.

“Hey,” Lori said suddenly. “How many of these guys do you think would be _Miwaku_ customers?”

Ayaka looked up in surprise. She considered the question. “Actually…?” she thought out loud. “None of them.”

“None?” Lori echoed.

Nodding, Ayaka selected another eel roll with her chopsticks. “The _Miwaku_ customers, they may be rich and powerful in their business lives. But I think that they come to the bar because they simply don’t know how to have a normal, healthy relationship with a woman.”

“That’s a problem in modern Japan,” she added woefully. “One of the reasons our birth rate is dropping, I think. There are a very small – but growing – number of men who want fake fantasy women than real ones.”

“Huh,” said Lori.

Ayaka flashed a mildly annoyed look. “Hey, chick, I’ve been to America,” she huffed. “Your country has issues with men’s sex fantasies, too.”

“True,” Lori agreed. Slyly, she teased, “So why don’t you and me move to America and open a hostess bar there? We could straighten out all of America’s perverts, then come back to fix Japan.”

Ayaka blushed… but grinned sheepishly. And Lori burst out into a delighted gale of laughter.

*********

Just when Lori thought that she had it all made… calamity struck.

“_Miss Greene, can you make an appointment with International Students?_” a receptionist asked. Her polite voice sounded small and tinny on Lori’s cellphone speaker.

The American student frowned, annoyed at this distraction. She was in her bedroom, rearranging her closet for the umpteenth time. Since her initial money scare, she’d added at least twenty new outfits to her wardrobe.

“What’s this about?” Lori demanded, flipping through her many skirts.

“_I… cannot say,_” the receptionist admitted. “_But you are advised to come in. _**Immediately_._**”

There was something about the mousey woman’s voice that snagged Lori’s attention. The student sighed. “Do you have any appointments available this afternoon?”

*********

Osaka University’s International Student Office was slightly off-campus, but luckily close to Lori’s “Gender Roles in the Media” class. She darted in for a face-to-face with the next available councilor.

Which turned out to be a Mrs. Sukimora, a depressingly thin woman with a sunken face. Lori sat before Sukimora’s desk, already impatient to be on her way.

“Miss Greene,” Sukimora-san said quietly, pulling up Lori’s records on the computer. “Thank you for coming in. I’m afraid there is a flag on your tuition and Visa status.”

Lori blinked. She’d assumed this meeting had something to do with her sliding grade point average.

“It seems…” Mrs. Sukimora said, scanning Lori’s electronic file, “that your regular tuition funds are no longer available.” She glanced across her desk at the young American woman. “Have you had a change in banks or financial status?”

“Oh, that,” replied Lori, relieved. “Yes, my family has had some money hardships.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the university administrator said, her voice completely devoid of any compassion.

“I was originally paying for classes through my trust fund,” Lori explained. “But, no worries, I can pay for my upcoming semesters through… ah, different means.”

“I see,” Sukimora nodded. “I must ask: how are you attaining this money? Do you have a job?”

Before thinking, Lori said, “Yep. I just started. Last month.”

The ends of Mrs. Sukimora’s mouth turned downward as she studied her computer. “I do not see a job permit on file,” she said, her tone disapproving. “You know that to earn money while in Japan, you need a letter of sponsorship from your employer. We must have that on file for when the government reviews your Visa status.”

Lori’s smile melted away. “A sponsorship?” This was new to her.

“Yes,” Sukimora frowned. “It is the law. Or else, you will lose status. And be deported.”

*********

Lori’s stomach was in knots for the rest of the day. The thought of being kicked out of Japan was more than she could bear. And what would she do, if forced back to the United States? There were no hostess bars there. What would she do for money? Flip burgers at Wendy’s, like her siblings? No thank you!

There was no other option but to speak with Mr. Hatanaka. Lori arranged to be at _Miwaku-Tekina_ early, and thankfully found the club administrator at his desk. Ms. Fujimura, as always, was hovering in the background.

Taking great pains to be respectful, Lori explained the situation. “What I would ask of you, Hatanaka-san,” she said, mid-bow, “is for a letter of sponsorship. It would simply state that I work for you, in this place.”

Hatanaka and Ms. Fujimura did not seem pleased. They shared dark expressions as Lori detailed her plight. “This sponsorship…” Hatanaka rumbled. “I would be saying to the government that you draw a salary here?”

“Er, yes,” Lori said. She added, “But they just want to know that I am employed at a Japanese-owned company. Nothing more.” She hoped that was true.

Hatanaka rubbed his forehead. He looked stressed.

“I’ve taken the liberty of writing up a letter for you, Hatanaka-san,” Lori said quickly, placing a typed paper on the desk. “All you need do is sign it.”

“I will consider,” Hatanaka grumbled. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It is almost six o’clock. You should be downstairs for opening, no?”

Lori glanced between the two Japanese, wishing she knew what to say to prod them into action. _What’s the holdup?_ she thought, annoyed. _Just sign the letter!_

But such aggressive notions were not the Japanese way. Knowing she would not make any headway with protest, she simply bowed, then turned and left.

*********


	5. The Importance of Pouring Tea

That night, Lori was selected immediately by a bucktoothed old grandpa who wanted to regale her with stories of his family history. Lori listened, pretending to be endlessly fascinated. But, in truth, she wasn’t paying attention to a single word the geezer said.

As the old man was fondly recalling how many peasants his ancestors had butchered at the ancient Battle of So-and-So, Lori noted a thin-face customer with a cane enter the club. Across the distance, she faintly heard the man say, “Is Ayaka working tonight?”

Taking his coat, Shiori replied, “Yes sir, but she is with another customer at the moment.”

The thin-face man erupted. “What? Get me Ms. Fujimura,” he ordered angrily.

Shiori’s face paled. She bowed, then scurried away from her post.

*********

Three minutes later, Ms. Fujimura appeared, smoothly greeting the demanding customer. “Let us talk in private?” she urged.

“Do you have the stockings ready?” the thin-faced man asked point-blank.

Ms. Fujimura winced, but discretely ignored the man’s crudeness. “Let us talk… in private,” she said again. And she led the man upstairs.

Curiosity got the better of Lori. Her own immigration problems momentarily forgotten, she began wondering what Ayaka and the thin-faced customer could possibly want with **_stockings_**. It wasn’t as if Ayaka would change into stockings, not for a club date. What where the stockings for? A conversation piece?

*********

When Lori’s ancient client had finished his whiskey and stories, the American student escorted the old man out to the street. His taxi was waiting.

“Oh, I had the nicest time!” the old man rambled, still beaming from ear to ear. “You’re such a nice young lady…!”

“Yes, yes, and you are a wonderful storyteller,” Lori fibbed, gently prodding the man into his cab. “I hope to see you again.”

The moment the little car was speeding away, Lori hurried back into the club. As she re-entered, she happened to look across the main barroom and spotted Ayaka climbing the staircase, up to the office. Oddly, Mr. Hatanaka was with her. His hand was on Ayaka’s shoulder, and the young Japanese woman was walking in a robotic, almost lifeless pattern. Her lovely arms were draped at her sides, her head high on her shoulders, her gaze straight ahead. The two Japanese people’s backs were to Lori, but something seemed very, very wrong about this little scene.

Hatanaka never came down to the barroom, **_never!_** What was going on?

Lori scrunched up her mouth, worried. She thought quickly. Then, throwing caution to the winds, she walked across the club and followed up the stairs.

*********

The door to _Miwaku_’s office was slightly ajar. Feeling like a spy, Lori approached cautiously, careful not to make a sound. For reasons she didn’t understand, alarm bells were going off in her head.

From inside the office, she could hear Ayaka’s timid voice: “Hatanaka-san, have I done something wrong?”

The club manager’s deep baritone was soothing in response: “Oh no, not at all, Ayaka. In fact, you are one of our highest bookers. I am most pleased with how you treat our customers.”

Ayaka: “Then forgive me, but-“

Hatanaka cut her off. “Sleep…!” he intoned. “Sleep… Sleep, Ayaka. You will… **_sleep_**…”

There was a silence. Lori held her breath, wondering what was happening.

“Deeper and deeper, Ayaka,” commanded Hatanaka, his deep voice becoming almost silvery. “You descend even deeper than before. Soon, you will know only the sound of my voice.”

More nonsense commands followed, all about how Ayaka was going deeper into a powerful sleep. The young Japanese woman never once spoke as her employer prattled on.

Lori listened, transfixed. Hatanaka-san’s voice was so soothing, so powerful, she also felt the urge to close her eyes and let go. The magic in his words was hard to resist.

Then, Hatanaka switched instructions. “In a moment, Ayaka,” he rumbled, “you will awake, remembering nothing. You will meet with Mr. Sato, waiting for you in Entertainment Room 2. You will find him sexually irresistible. Once he gives you permission, you will remove all of your clothes, only putting on the black stockings you will find neatly folded on the couch. Once you are wearing those stocking – and nothing else – you will bend over and allow Mr. Sato to fuck you from behind. You will believe this to be the best sexual experience of your life.”

More commands followed, all reinforcing the first set of instructions. Lori listened with increasing horror, realizing what was a happening to her girlfriend.

Mr. Hatanaka fell silent, sighing once. “There”, he muttered, “it is done.”

“She will obey?” a woman asked. Ms. Fujimura.

“Of course,” replied Hatanaka. Lori heard the soft click of a cigarette lighter. “And once Sato is finished with her, she’ll return up here to have her memory erased. Again.”

“You see, Hayato?” Ms. Fujimura asked. “This was much easier than you feared. And already the profits are bigger than we anticipated. As I predicted.”

“Perhaps,” grumbled Hatanaka. He was unconvinced.

“We have how many girls conditioned now, six?” asked Ms. Fujimura. “Ayaka, Hatsumi, Kotoe, Michiko, Tatsuko. And, of course, Lori.”

Lori’s blood ran ice cold.

“We will need more,” Ms. Fujimura said airily. “In a few months, when we can move to a better locale with more entertainment rooms, we will need at least a dozen hypnotized girls on staff. Maybe more. It pays to plan ahead.”

Hatanaka exhaled, a slow, agonized sound. “And what are we to do with Lori?” he grumbled.

“You mean that horrid little letter of sponsorship she wants us to sign,” Ms. Fujimura growled, the displeasure evident in her voice.

“If we sign on as her sponsors, it could attract attention from the immigration authorities,” warned Mr. Hatanaka. “Or, if we get into legal trouble, that kind of documentation would be used to prove charges of prostitution.”

Ms. Fujimura considered. “Perhaps…” she said, “but unlikely. Besides, we have to look at the opposite side of the coin.”

Hatanaka grunted.

“The website has just taken off,” Ms. Fujimura reminded him. “Lori is the only blonde woman we advertise. The interest in her is **_tremendous_**, more than all the other girls combined. Once we get the online business running smoothly, Lori will be our top moneymaker. By far.”

“You are too casual with risk,” the Japanese man muttered.

Lori had heard enough. Hatanaka and Fujimura were **_hypnotizing_** their hostesses for… **_a side prostitution business?_** It was absolutely too hideous to contemplate. The American student’s stomach churned.

Slowly, she backed away from the office. When she was safely out of earshot, she turned, rushed down the stairs, and out of the club.

*********

Dressed only in her tiny party dress, Lori aimlessly wandered the frozen streets of Kita District. Her mind was whirling, and she barely noticed the curious stares of fellow pedestrians.

Random images began popping into the American woman’s mind. She recalled… sitting in the _Miwaku_ office, sipping the tea… then feeling so relaxed… gazing into the swirling, electronic paintings… listening to Hatanaka drone on as she felt better and better… Happily agreeing with all that Hatanaka told her…

_I _**have**_ been hypnotized_, Lori realized in dread. _The tea drugged me and then Hatanaka lulled me into a trance with those electric lights._

More memories blossomed in her mind. She remembered stripping and then masturbating for the eyepatched man. She remembered fucking with him like horny rabbits.

Then another customer loomed in her mind. This man was a little older, better built, more handsome, but with a cruel sneer. Lori saw herself bent over the arm of the couch, all of her clothes removed. She was stroking herself furiously, wailing in pleasure, eagerly watching the man slide a condom onto his rigid, red cock.

“_Hurry, master!_” Lori begged in the memory. She was so aroused. “_Your horny slave _**needs**_ you!_”

The customer smirked, then positioned himself to penetrate her.

More and then still more memories of having sex with _Miwaku_ customers appeared.

Lori stopped in a small alley, leaned over, and vomited. As hard as she could.

Her world felt as if it was collapsing. Once, when she had been a teenager, Lori had discovered that her supposedly-loving boyfriend had been cheating on her. That was also on the day her father had died in the car crash. In twenty-four hours, her life had been shattered.

This felt **_so much worse_**.

*********

One thing was clear: Lori had to escape _Miwaku-Tekina_. She should rush home, pack her bags, and fly out of Osaka International that very night. Head for America, and never look back.

Lori gritted her teeth, wiping away the tears. Yes. That was what she’d do.

But…

There was Ayaka.

Right now, Lori knew, her poor roommate was dressed only in black stockings, acting out the depraved fantasy of yet another _Miwaku_ customer. Probably hypnotized to believe that she was a helpless little slave girl, or something else equally horrible. The young American woman cursed out loud.

No, she had to rescue Ayaka. There was no way to reach her roommate at the moment, at least not while Hatanaka and Ms. Fujimura were watching.

But once Ayaka left the club for the night… Lori would grab her Japanese friend, and shake her until all the hypnosis-buried memories bubbled to the surface. Then…

…well, then Ayaka and Lori would figure out their next moves. Together.

*********

There was no way Lori was ever again to set foot inside _Miwaku-Tekina_, not if there was a remote chance of bumping into her hypnotist. Her coat, purse, cell phone, and keys were in the club, but the American student was too frightened to try and retrieve them.

Her original plan was to lurk outside the club’s entrance, and wait for Ayaka to emerge at the end of the shift. But the February night air was freezing, and growing colder. Lori was only in her flimsy party dress, which did nothing against the bitter winds. Finally, desperate, the young woman flagged down a cab driver.

“You don’t have any money?” he asked, revolted. And yet, his curious eyes were wandering over Lori’s body.

“Well, I don’t have any money on me,” Lori coaxed, brazenly climbing into the cab’s passenger seat. “But I can pay you, once you get me home.” Before the man could object, she added, “Brrr…! Thank goodness you stopped, sir! Why, I always wanted to be a taxi driver, but I just didn’t think I could do it.” She laughed playfully. “You much lead **_such_** an interesting life!”

The driver, hypnotized by her flirting, grinned and blushed. Lori, by now, was a top-notch hostess, an expert at detecting how to flatter men’s egos.

Under her spell, the cabbie clicked off his AVAILABLE light and sped away.

*********

By a cruel twist of fate, both Nanami and Hiyori were not home, probably spending the night at their boyfriends’. There was no way to get into Lori’s apartment. Cursing her rotten luck, the American student was forced to knock on the door of Mr. Hamamoto, the building landlord and super. The portly little man stared at her in shock when he opened his apartment door.

“Oh, Hamamoto-san!” Lori wailed, turning on the drama, “I’m locked out of my apartment! Do you have the spare key?”

The super did not, much to Lori’s annoyance. “You have yet to give me back the spare key you borrowed, remember?” he harrumphed.

It took all of Lori’s charms to coax the lumpy little man to pay off her cabbie, then allow her to sit in his snug apartment while she waited for one of her roommates to return home. Hamamoto was watching television. He liked those annoying Japanese shows where characters scream catchphrases at the camera and lewd graphics were splayed across the screen. The American girl huddled in a chair, wishing she could be anywhere than here.

*********

By 11 PM, not one of Lori’s roommates had returned home.

“Its late,” yawned Hamamoto. “I’m off to bed.”

With a degree of pity, he told Lori, “You may sleep on the couch, if you wish. Just include the cab fare in your next rent check.”

Lori mumbled thanks. Exhausted, she was dozing off less than three minutes after the landlord shuffled off to bed.

*********

A set of footfalls and then the creak of a door jolted Lori awake. Someone was above, opening her apartment door! **_Finally!_**

The American student leapt to her feet, wishing she knew what the time was. The street outside was silent, so it had to be very late, definitely past midnight.

Groping about in the darkness of Hamamoto’s apartment, Lori found her shoes, then slipped outside. Within a twinkling, she zipped up the steps and through the front door of her own abode.

Ayaka, looking tired, was in the seating room, dropping her coat and purse onto the sofa. The young Japanese women looked up in surprise as Lori bustled in.

“There you are!” Lori gasped, kicking off her shoes, then rushing up to her roommate. “Oh my God, Ayaka…! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ayaka replied, puzzled. “Nanami and Hiyori are out for the night, I guess. My goodness, Lori, what is the matter with you?”

The blonde woman almost hugged her friend, which is a very un-Japanese thing to do. “Listen,” she said, realizing how dry her throat was. “Hatanaka-san and Fujimura-san… they’re hypnotizing us! I overheard…”

“You overheard too much,” a female voice said behind Lori.

The American student whirled around, her heart pounding. There, in her own seating room, stood the two proprietors of _Miwaku-Tekina_. Mr. Hatanaka was watching Lori closely. And Ms. Fujimura, folding her thin arms across her chest, looked especially triumphant. Both Japanese wore their winter coats and, as a sign of disrespect, their outdoor shoes.

“You silly girl,” Ms. Fujimura clucked. Her usual professional demeanor was gone; the businesswoman was openly gloating now.

“Get out!” Lori barked.

“I told you it was only a matter of time before one of our girls realized what we were doing,” Ms. Fujimura said to Mr. Hatanaka. “Lori here, it seems, overheard us hypnotizing Ayaka in your office. Why else would she flee from the club so suddenly?”

“Luckily,” the businesswoman added, poison in her voice, “Ayaka remained under our control. So it was easy to devise a trap to recapture our American rose.”

“I’m calling the police,” hissed Lori, reaching for the phone.

“**_Calm_** yourself, girl,” Ms. Fujimura commanded, sweeping a hand over Lori’s face.

The hypnotic keyword activated deep within Lori’s mind. Suddenly, the young American woman felt her rage bleed away. Her arms and legs felt heavy. A sleepy tranquility descended over her. She found herself staring into Ms. Fujimura’s eyes.

“You poor little fool,” the older Japanese woman murmured, stepping closer. “Hayato and I have been inside your mind so many times, we know your subconscious better than you do, I think. You have many more posthypnotic suggestions lying in wait, my dear, that you will find it quite impossible to resist me.”

“I mean,” Ms. Fujimura said quickly, “**_us_**. You’ll find it difficult to resist us.”

“Hmm?” Hatanaka said, surprised.

Ms. Fujimura sighed once, then turned to her business partner. “**_Sleep_**, Hayato,” she ordered, snapping her fingers once.

Hatanaka lost all expression as his eyes closed. His arms dropped limply at his side.

“**_Sleep_**, Ayaka,” added Ms. Fujimura, snapping at Lori’s roommate. Instantly, the young Japanese woman dropped her head, falling into a deep trance.

Despite the fog in her mind, Lori wanted to scream. She was captured, she knew, and in within moments, she would be unable to resist any thought or command Ms. Fujimura put in her head. The Japanese woman, as if sensing the remains of Lori’s despair, moved to stand before her.

“Look into my eyes,” the businesswoman murmured, lightly rubbing both of Lori’s temples. “Yes, that’s it. The last of your resistance is fading, Lori. Within in minutes, you will happily call me ‘mistress.’ And you will never resist me again.

“I nearly lost you,” Ms. Fujimura sighed, her gaze casting its magic over Lori’s fading thoughts. “Your close friendship with Ayaka, it seems, gave you a protective bond with her. Well, I can’t have that. You two are to be my obedient workers, without a care as to what happens to the other. We’ll erase that friendship, the moment you are fully in my power.

“It’s a shame,” added the Japanese woman. Her eyes were growing bigger, swallowing Lori’s mind whole. “If I were a man, or from a wealthy family, none of this would be necessary. But to make my fortune, I must operate behind the scenes, allowing all to think that I am a mere secretary, that Hayato is the master. Let people think what they like. In the end, I will be triumphant.

“And now, Lori,” she whispered, “obey me and… **_sleep_**…”

Lori’s eyes closed, and she knew no more.

*********

** _Three months later…_ **

The new _Miwaku-Tekina_ was a vast improvement over the old one. The location, for one, was much better. Only a few blocks from Kita District’s _Tenjimbashi-suji_ Shopping Street, the bar was ideally situated to catch bored husbands who knew their wives would be distracted for a few hours. The main barroom was actually three barrooms now, each with their own classical theme. There was live music every Friday and Saturday nights.

The upstairs was an expanded array of little deluxe suites, each dimly lit, each completely secluded from the others. Here, a customer was assured complete privacy, although tipping the scary-looking bouncer couldn’t hurt if you wanted to be sure no-one saw you come or go.

And those suites were heavily-trafficked. The bouncers were making a killing in discretion tips.

*********

Back in one of the main barrooms, Lori surveyed the hearty crowd. Her hair was loosely tied up, American-style, and she was clad in one of her more daring outfits, the slinky rose-colored dress that left her right arm completely bare. The dress had been a steal, on sale for only fifty thousand yen at Hankyu! True, the outfit hugged her chest a little too much. But that was good for tips.

The customers, as usual, were relaxed and blushing as they regaled hostess girls. There were new girls every week, always prettier than the last. If Lori wasn’t the only blonde, she might be worried about the competition.

It was five minutes before eight o’clock. Lori’s appointment was due to arrive soon, very soon. She wasn’t sure about what fantasy the customer wanted, but no matter. When the time came, she would know what to do. She always did.

Moving through the Imperial-themed barroom with a sultry, feminine grace, Lori made her way to the entrance foyer, absently adjusting her dress as she moved. Her customer would expect-

Wait. Lori’s eyes narrowed. Who was that in the waiting line? Ayaka? She scowled.

No doubt Ayaka was trying to edge in on one of Lori’s customers. **_Again_**.

Taking care not to call attention to herself, Lori calmly stood next to her rival. “Here to steal another one of my men? Filthy cunt,” she growled under her breath.

“Back off, skank,” Ayaka hissed back. “I’m here on assignment.”

Both women were careful to keep cheerful smiles on their faces. Only if you were close enough to eavesdrop would you realize what venom was in the words that they flung at one another.

Lori coolly regarded the Japanese woman. How mind-blowing to think: she and Ayaka had once been roommates! Back before Lori had dropped out of school. Lori couldn’t quite remember how the two had had their falling-out, but that didn’t matter. She **_hated_** Ayaka with a seething passion, and knew the smaller woman had even eviler thoughts about her.

“Look,” Ayaka glowered. “Normally I wouldn’t want to be within ten feet of your stinky pussy. But this customer has requested both of us.”

Lori was surprised. “Both of us?”

“Both of us,” repeated Ayaka, almost angry. “I think he likes your huge tits and my bubble butt. Or whatever. Doesn’t matter. Apparently he has a shogun fantasy, and we are the only two women he wants to do it with.”

“Oh,” Lori said, and immediately the hatred vanished from her mind. This happened whenever she was paired up with Ayaka; their feud mysteriously suspended itself just long enough to satisfy their customer. But once the man returned to the streets, Lori knew: she’d hate Ayaka all the more passionately.

As if cued by that very thought, the club doors opened. Mr. Takahashi, a successful shipping executive, appeared, immediately smiling at the two hostess women. “Girls!” he giggled in delight.

Instantly, Lori and Ayaka turned into blushing fans. “Takahashi-san!” they called out in perfect unison, then dissolved into giggles themselves.

*********

Within ten minutes, Lori, Ayaka, and the customer were in a private entertaining room. The two women were in makeshift kimonos, but their feet were bare and they wore no makeup. Mr. Takahashi sat cross-legged on a small throne before them, completely nude. Living out his favorite fantasy, he beamed at the women. He was fully erect.

“Mighty shogun!” Lori cried out, bowing deeply in submission. “How may we serve you?”

“I command…” Takahashi said grandly, playing out the part, “…for tea and stimulation. Tea and stimulation!”

“At once, master,” Lori and Ayaka intoned, bowing again.

Ayaka shed her kimono robe, and of course, she was completely naked beneath the wrappings. A look of awe and wonder on her face, she daintily knelt beside her shogun, then lowered her lips onto his waiting penis.

Meanwhile, Lori was selecting an elegant teacup from a set of twelve, neatly arranged on the shelf. She disrobed herself, then approached the shogun, careful to bring the cup and teapot in just the right position.

In Lori’s mind, she was completely convinced that this was feudal Japan, and she was indeed in the service of the mightiest of lords. Proximity to such a powerful man aroused her. She hoped she would have the honor of fucking him later. Perhaps once the shogun finished his tea?

With the grace of a swan, she set the cup before the man, and then poured with the skill of a master.

*********


End file.
